Heartbeats
by FrozenFractals
Summary: "You're the good guy and I'm the bad guy, Kara," she says, shrugging, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your heart clenches as she levels a soulful gaze at you. "The good guy beats up the bad guy," she continues, "That's how it goes." - Set after 1x06 Red Faced [Kalex]
1. Sparring

_Set after 1x06 Red Faced._

 _Because I refuse to believe Alex told Kara exactly what happened in Morrow's secret warehouse lair._

 _I listened to_ Heartbeats _by José González on repeat whilst writing this, hence the title._

* * *

"Ms. Danvers," Hank greets you stoically, looking up from the panel in front of him, giving you a slight nod as you walk into the DEO control room. You roll your eyes good-naturedly, gesturing to the symbol on your chest, but Hank has already directed his gaze back to the touchscreen under his fingertips.

"Director, _please_ ," you say, with mock exasperation in your voice, striking your best imitation of a superhero pose. "When I'm in the threads, it's _Supergirl."_

God it feels good to have your powers back.

Hank turns to face you properly, crossing his arms over his chest and settling into a casual stance of appraisal. He looks entirely unamused, but you know better. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly as he bites his cheek to keep a smile from breaking his stony façade. After a beat, he inclines his head towards the training room. "She's in there with Vasquez," he states, and you give him your brightest smile, unabashedly _skipping_ towards the security panel that will grant you access to said room.

You're absolutely positive he knows your super hearing can pick up the sharp exhale of air that constitutes a Hank Henshaw chuckle.

The lead-lined walls that encompass the training room slide open with an emphatic whoosh, and a cacophony of sounds spill out.

Heavy breathing. Grunting. Hearts pumping. The shuffles of perfectly-timed footwork across the floor.

Your brow furrows as you step into the observation chamber and watch two figures sparring absolutely _ferociously_. Kicks are flying fast and furious, fist and forearms connecting with a rhythm to which only the two of them seem to be able to move. It's beautiful and completely terrifying.

Alex throws a quick jab at Vasquez' nose, but it's stopped by Vasquez catching it in her right hand and throwing an equally fast jab right back at Alex's jaw.

The resounding thud of bone on bone stops their brutal dance and makes you jump. You swallow a yelp, not wanting to distract either of them. Alex stumbles back looking dazed, but Vasquez doesn't take advantage, instead looking-wide eyed at the woman in front of her. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry Agent Danvers," she says, breathlessly. "I thought you'd- I mean normally I have to be so fast- I just-"

She's cut off by Alex bearing down on her, a powerful right hook heading directly for her ribs. Vasquez jumps back, barely evading the blow. Alex throws a left uppercut, and Vasquez slips to the side, slightly off-balance.

Alex growls with frustration. "Counter, Vasquez!" she snaps, sending a right cross straight for the woman's throat.

You see what's going to happen before it does.

Alex's fist connects with your open palm, and her eyes go wide. "Kar-," she cuts herself off quickly. "Supergirl?" She finally realises where her knuckles have landed, and her eyes harden. "What the hell are you doing?" she grinds out from between clenched teeth.

"What are _you_ doing, _Agent Danvers_?" You snap right back. "Are you _trying_ to put Agent Vasquez in the hospital?"

Alex wrenches her fist from your grip. "Vasquez can take care of herself," she seethes, glaring down at you.

You can hear Vasquez' heart beating a little too fast, and the slightest rustling of fabric tells you she's shaking.

Alex slips back into her usual cool demeanour like she didn't just almost crush a woman's windpipe, looking over your shoulder at the nervous figure standing behind you. "You're dismissed," she says, contempt coating her words.

Quick footsteps, another whoosh, and Vasquez is gone, leaving you and Alex staring each other down again. She crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at you. "So," she drawls, "care to explain why you interrupted a routine DEO training session?"

"Routine?" You give her an incredulous look. "What has gotten _into_ you, Alex?" A bruise is blossoming on her jawline, but her face remains emotionless. "You could have _seriously_ hurt Agent Vasquez!"

That gets a substantial reaction from her. She throws her hands in the air and looks up at the dormant kryptonite emitters in the ceiling. "Kara," she says, condescendingly. You scoff, but she ignores you. "Vasquez is a fucking _field agent_. She has a black belt in jujitsu and is proficient in three other disciplines of hand-to-hand combat." She looks back at you, dangerously close to showing you the same contempt she showed Vasquez mere minutes ago. "Just because I have to use _slightly_ more force in here with her than I do you, doesn't mean I'm going to 'seriously hurt' her."

You frown, a small pang in your chest at the subtle insult to your fighting skills – or lack thereof. Alex _knows_ you've been training like crazy, and she's normally so proud of that. For her to use it against you now…

"She's still a human being, Alex," you say, unsure, feeling – for the first time – that you may actually have done something wrong by protecting an innocent person. "She's…" you want to say _fragile_ , because she _is_. All humans are. Even Alex.

But suddenly Alex is looking at you like she's _daring_ you to continue that sentence, so you stop, unsure of how to proceed. You tug at your cape, fiddling with it, feeling the material slide between your fingers.

"And I'm not?" Alex challenges. You see a muscle in her neck jump.

"What?" You recoil, slightly annoyed. "That's not- I didn't mean it like that, Alex." Now it's your turn to throw your hands up in exasperation. "You _know_ I didn't mean it like that." You take a step towards her, staring intently, looking for an answer to your very first question, "What is _with_ you today?"

Your answer is a sly grin crossing Alex's face. "Fight me," she simply says.

"Uh..." you step backwards again, feeling a small tremor of fear trickle down your spine, but you're not quite sure why. You've never really had a reason to be afraid of Alex, and you don't think you have a reason now – she's probably just joking – but the way she was trying to get at Vasquez was so unlike the Alex you know. The Alex you know has a dry sense of humour, sure, but today she just seems all over the place.

"Kryptonite emitters at five percent," she says, voice steady, "no more."

You realise she's being serious.

This chases the fear _of_ Alex from your gut and replaces it with fear _for_ her. "Alex…what? No, that's crazy!" You've never trained together with the kryptonite emitters below fifteen percent, and even at that level you left some pretty substantial bruises on her body. "Absolutely not!"

But she's already hitting buttons on the spec panel. Seconds later, the room is awash with a dim green glow and you feel gravity take a slightly firmer hold of you.

Alex stalks towards you, and you respond by backing away from her, resolutely shaking your head. "Alex, I'm serious. I'm not doing this with you."

"Yes you are," she states, a predatory grin your only warning for what comes next. Then she's throwing a flurry of punches at your head. The kryptonite prevents you from flying, but you clear her range of attack by jumping the full diameter of the room in a single leap.

But she's on you again in seconds. "Alex! Stop!" you yell at her, ducking under a roundhouse kick that she was very clearly aiming at your head. A second one targets your ribs, and your throw an arm out to block it. You barely feel the impact, but Alex winces and stumbles forward, steadying herself about an inch away from you.

"Five percent," she repeats, already panting. Her breath causes a few stray hairs to move across your cheek. "I can't hurt you."

Then there's an elbow coming at your nose, and you've had _enough_. The kryptonite dampens your speed, but you're still fast enough to catch Alex's arm and give her an almighty shove, sending her to the ground.

But she's as quick as ever, and rolls on her shoulder, getting back onto her feet within a second. You finally put your fists up.

It just makes the fire in her eyes burn brighter. "Nice counter," she teases, smirking. "But you'll have to do better than that to keep me down."

"I don't want to keep you down!" You slip right to dodge a jab. "I don't even want to fight you!" Slip left to dodge the subsequent cross. "Alex this insane! You're going to hurt yourself!" Jumping backwards to avoid a kick to the solar plexus, you catch a strange expression flick across her face.

"Planning on it," she mutters, and you're not sure if she knows you can hear her. You drop your guard, dumbfounded, trying to decipher what the hell she means by that.

But then there's a palm heading straight for your nose – instinct kicks in and before you can stop yourself, you've blocked and countered with a little more force than you meant. Alex grunts and stumbles back, a coppery tang filling the air.

You flinch at the trickle of blood coming from her split lip, horrified. But she's grinning, and her tongue swipes over it, savouring it.

"Oh- oh god. _Alex_ ," you stammer, pressing your hands to your mouth, shaking your head.

Alex's grin slowly disappears as she focuses on you, replaced by a worried frown. Insecurity clouds her eyes. "I'm fine, Kara," she says, gesturing to the blood that continues to seep from her lip. "It's nothing. Keep going."

You let your hands drop slightly, still shaking your head. "No," you breathe out. " _No_." More emphatically this time. "Enough. That's _enough_."

"Kara-"

"I said _no_ , Alex!" You snap at her. She looks taken aback. "Look at what I _did_ to you." You can't take your eyes off the blood now trickling down her chin. "This has to _stop_." You're angry at yourself for not being able to keep the pleading tone from your voice.

Alex doesn't even try to hide it. Her transition from calm to desperate is jarring. "Kara _please_ ," she begs. "I _need_ you to do this."

Now you're even more confused than before. " _Why_?" you ask her. A wave of anger twists your insides. "Why do you need _me_ to do this? You know I _hate_ -" your voice catches on the lump rapidly forming in your throat, "I _hate_ hurting you. You _know_ that!"

Alex lets her fists fall to her sides, and her shoulders drop. "Exactly," she begins, and the noise you make is a cross between an exasperated grunt and a sob, but she keeps talking. "That's exactly why I need you to do this, Kara. You hate hurting me. You hate hurting _anyone_." You're sure that your incredulity at her nonsensical non-answer to your question is clear on your face, but Alex keeps talking. "That's why you're the hero and I'm…" she trails off, squeezing her eyes shut briefly before finishing. "I'm not."

The sudden defeat in her tone catches you off guard, and your anger melts away. "Alex-" you try interjecting, but she cuts you off.

"You're the good guy and I'm the bad guy, Kara," she says, shrugging, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your heart clenches as she levels a soulful gaze at you. "The good guy beats up the bad guy," she continues, "That's how it goes."

You've heard enough. Taking three strides towards her, you grab her shoulders. "You are _not_ the bad guy Alex. That's ridiculous and I can't even begin to understand why a thought like that would even cross your mind, let alone stay there long enough for you to _insist_ on forcing me to- to _hit_ you."

You're surprised to find her eyes are somewhat glassy, and you realise she's holding back tears. "Kara, I'm-" she inhales, steadying herself. "I've been keeping something from you. Since the Red Tornado incident."

You make what you hope is a gentle, supportive noise in the back of your throat, but you're well-acquainted with how much it can _hurt_ when Alex reveals the things she's been keeping from you.

Her eyes move to look at the ceiling. "Dr. Morrow…" she chokes out. "Kara, he's not in DEO custody." Her eyelashes are wet when she looks at you again. "He's dead."

Your eyes widen. "Dead?" Confusion keeps clouding your mind and it's starting to frustrate you. "But he was controlling Red Tornado remotely. You went to apprehend him."

Alex just stares, waiting for you to realise…what?

Then it dawns on you, and you repeat the words you heard two days ago in a stunned whisper. "'No commands are being transmitted to the android'…Alex, _what did you do_?"

Alex finally gives you a straight answer. "I shot him. Right through the chest." She swallows, and you feel her trembling under your grasp. "I watched him die, Kara." Your stomach churns, and you choose to blame the kryptonite for it. "I. Am. The bad guy." She punctuates each word with a sharp prod to the chest with her right index finger.

You feel like you're flying upside down. Inside out. Blood rushes to your head and your ears are ringing. You're sure of nothing and everything at the same time. You're not sure if this is really Alex – _your_ Alex – standing in front of you, chest heaving, searching your face, looking desperate. But you _are_ sure that everything she's ever done has been to protect you, and you are sure that you trust her.

So you grab her hand from her chest and pull her against you, threading your other hand into her hair. She slumps, relieved, clinging to your shoulders, resting her full weight on them. The kryptonite emitters are still on and she's heavy, but you hold her up, feeling hot tears dampen your neck. Alex is a silent crier – she always has been – but it doesn't make your heart tug any less painfully at your chest.

You whisper your next words directly into her ear. "No. You. Aren't." Each one punctuated with a kiss to the slightly damp, salty skin of her jawline.

A watery chuckle rises from her spot in the crook of your neck, and you smile a little, glad she appreciates your cheekiness even in this emotional state.

"Alex, you're the good guy," you say softly, but with conviction. You hear her inhale, ready to rebuke, but you don't let her speak. "I'm sorry you had to kill Dr. Morrow. I'm sorry I didn't know. And I'm sorry you had to keep it from me until now." You sigh heavily, General Lane's words echoing in your head. The whole debacle could have been avoided if you'd just kept your temper in check in the first place. "I'm just…so sorry."

Alex exhales shakily and pulls back to look you in the eyes. "You're not upset?" She squints slightly, "I mean, I _killed someone_ , Kara. You and Superman…" she waves her hands aimlessly. "You're heroes. You have a code against that."

You won't lie – her words sting a little. But only because she's right. Taking a human life is something you wished neither of you would ever have to do. It's definitely not something you ever imagined Alex even _capable_ of doing. Sweet, gentle Alex, who used to carefully carry spiders and bugs from your bedroom without hurting them, even though they terrified you. Alex, who would literally never hurt a fly.

You hate that she had to change that for your sake.

"Alex," you start, suddenly aware of how corny what you're about to say is going to sound.

You say it anyway. "You're _my_ hero. And I trust you. With everything. I trust that you didn't-" the word sticks in your throat, "- _kill_ Dr. Morrow without a good reason." You're not sure if there's ever a good reason for killing someone, but you're a little too overwhelmed to explore the implications of that right now.

A tiny smile lifts the corners of Alex's mouth, and she relaxes slightly. She opens her mouth to say something, but appears to change her mind a second later.

You fill the silence for her. "I love you," you say, emphasised with a kiss to her temple.

Alex looks like she's going to cry again, fighting her emotions to return the sentiment without her voice breaking over the words. You take pity on her. "I know. You love me too," you quip, winking.

She laughs, the sound full and rich in the hollow room, and even though the kryptonite emitters are still on, your heart soars.


	2. Survivor Guilt

_Set after 1x09 – Blood Bonds._

 _Sometimes I feel like the only person that's genuinely worried about Alex's mental state after all she's been through…_

* * *

Alex has started long-distance running again.

She runs late at night, when the city is quiet. When her standard-issue black training gear will let her melt into the darkness that fills the spaces between buildings and snakes around tree trunks in the park. When she knows no one will see the tears mixing with the sweat on her cheeks.

But you _do_ see it.

You know Alex thinks she's stealthily slipping out of your apartment each night, leaving you sprawled on the couch where you've fallen into a food coma after watching three episodes of _Homeland_ and demolishing two pizzas almost entirely on your own –Alex hasn't had much of an appetite recently –but she's obviously forgotten that you have super hearing.

Actually, even regular hearing would have tipped you off, since Alex has just been so… _different_ lately.

It's not really an obvious different. Hank had just shrugged when you asked him why Alex was doing so much overtime at the DEO – that's when you were convinced she was staying back just to avoid you. But she still laughs when you trip over your cape sometimes. Still complains when she only gets one potsticker and you get five. Still shoots withering glares at any agent who dares question your presence in the DEO control room.

But she's your sister, and you've spent more time reading her than you've spent reading the hundreds of Kryptonian storybooks your mother stored in the AI she sent to Earth with you. Alex's laugh is not as full as it used to be. You know she doesn't really want that second potsticker because she can barely finish her first one. And there's this fresh note of fear in her voice when she says 'you don't have to do this, Kara' before every mission.

So you've been following her, telling yourself it's to watch out for her, make sure she doesn't roll an ankle or get kidnapped or killed by a Fort Rozz fugitive. Of course, Alex always takes at least four different weapons with her – a sidearm tucked into the waistband at the small of her back, a combat knife strapped to her upper thigh, a taser weighing down the left pocket of her windrunner so that it hangs amusingly off-centre, and a failsafe keychain can of pepper spray that is half-empty because of your insatiable curiosity regarding Supergirl's resistance to capsaicin.

With enough artillery to supply a small army, Alex doesn't need your protection.

But, again, your curiosity is insatiable. Which is how you've ended up here.

You watch her from the roof of a nearby building as she runs laps of the city, weaving through alleys, ducking in and out of the shadows, heart pounding louder than her sneakers thudding against the asphalt – rasping breath caused more by the emotion she's trying to run from than the exertion, as she punches out five, six, seven miles.

Halfway through the eighth mile she stops, leaning against the wall of a brownstone, heaving, and then finally throwing up. But she hasn't eaten in about fourteen hours – you've been keeping track of that too...she wouldn't even eat the burrito you bought from her favourite food truck in Chicago – so all that lands in the gutter is a sickly yellow stream of bile. You scrunch your nose up in mild disgust as you see it mix with the oily puddle glittering under the light of the street lamp, snuffing out the tiny little rainbows.

Alex turns back to the building, staring up at something. You're not sure what, exactly, but this routine has been going on for four nights in a row now, and whatever it is she's looking at seems to be exhausting her far beyond the extreme lengths she's pushing herself to physically.

Minutes pass. Alex is illuminated for a few seconds by headlights as a car rumbles down the narrow street. Her tears are flowing hard and fast, and it takes everything in you to not fly down there and carry her into the sky, above the clouds – block her view of whatever it is that's causing her to crumble in on herself like the concrete in your grasp.

Startled, you look at the balustrade you've been gripping a little tootightly. The powdered remains of the chunk you accidentally dislodged are caught by a slight breeze as you open your fist, and it distracts you long enough that you almost miss the fact that Alex has started jogging back towards the park, obviously opting to go back to her own apartment.

Again.

Just so she doesn't have to face you in the morning.

Sighing, you brush the remnants of concrete stuck to your hand onto your skirt, and take off, flying silently above Alex for the full hour it takes her to make it back to her front door.

You give her the privacy she needs once she's indoors – once she's _safe_ – guilt gnawing at your insides. Alex, of course, has no idea you've been following her. Watching her. She'd be horrified if she knew. Her entire life she's been deceiving people, and the _pride_ she takes in her ability to put herself back together after falling apart at night, leaving everyone at the DEO wondering if there is _anything_ that can rattle the infallible Agent Danvers…even _you_ can't justify taking that away from her, despite the ache in your chest growing stronger with each of her sobs resonating through the crisp, early morning air as you force yourself to fly further and further into the sky until all you can hear is the silence of space pressing against your eardrums.

* * *

On the sixth night, Alex tucks a small package into the chest pocket of her windrunner before heading out. You don't try to figure out what it is – as much as you _really_ want to – because you may be choosing to sacrifice Alex's solitude for her safety by following her, but you've set yourself certain boundaries so that you can keep your guilt at a somewhat manageable level when you have to meet her eyes in the harsh light of day. You recite the Kryptonese alphabet over and over to silence the part of your brain that's just _begging_ you to use your X-ray vision on that pocket. It's only barely working.

Alex stops at the brownstone as she does every night, bracing herself against the rough bricks, doubled over with pain, fatigue, and the general weight of feeling things she doesn't want to feel.

When she can breathe again, she pulls the object from her pocket and looks around quickly, scanning her surroundings in a way only someone with something to hide would, before slipping whatever it is into a letterbox outside the brownstone.

Your resolve surrenders, curiosity getting the better of you, so you squint, making a mental note of the number. You might be able to use Winn's computer in the actuary's office to look up the address later. Find out who lives here. Why Alex keeps torturing herself with this building.

She doesn't spend endless minutes staring up at the brickwork tonight, obviously nervous about her decision to make contact with whoever lives here by way of leaving an unmarked gift. She even takes the most direct route back to her apartment, running a little faster than normal, like that tiny parcel she's left in the letterbox has been the sole source of the weight she's been carrying these last six days.

She doesn't cry in the shower tonight – doesn't toss her sidearm into the hallway drawer like it burns her and she can't bear to look at it. She even manages to get the ice cubes into her whiskey glass without dropping the majority of them on the kitchen floor.

But despite the copious amounts of alcohol she pours into that glass, you're positive Alex won't be able to sleep tonight.

And neither will you.

* * *

Striding into the DEO, you quickly discover that holding your head high and affecting an air of authority is so much _harder_ when you're running on absolutely no sleep.

Judging by Vasquez' stutter, though, you're managing to pull it off. "M-morning, ma'am," she greets, going for a salute but second guessing herself when she remembers you're not a government agent, and definitely not her superior.

"At ease, Agent Vasquez," you tease, chuckling, glancing around the control room. Alex is nowhere to be found. "Is Agent Danvers around?"

Vasquez looks troubled. "Um, she's…yes, she's here. Sort of, but-" Her eyes flick to a glass-walled office, which is currently _barely_ containing whatever explosive argument Alex appears to be having with someone.

Director Henshaw is normally so stoically calm that it takes you a good three seconds to realise it's actually him repeatedly slamming his open palm onto the desk separating the two of them. This is the same man who barely even raised an eyebrow at being kidnapped and then ambushed by Non's Kryptonian militia. And he is _angry_.

Alex is matching Hank's intensity, trying to make herself heard over whatever freight train of thought he's expressing. You can tell she's yelling at the top of her voice by the vein throbbing in her temple and the ruddy tinge to her face.

Vasquez staring at you now, wide-eyed, possibly expecting you to smash through the glass and clock Hank right in the jaw.

Well, maybe she's not expecting it, but you are _absolutely_ thinking about it.

Either way, it takes the last vestiges of your tired self-control to hold back and simply listen in.

"- _not_ fucking DEO property, Hank, it's his goddamn _wedding_ _ring_! What possible reason could we have to keep it locked in the fucking _morgue_ with his body? I mean, it's not like he'll be needing it, since he's fucking _dead_!" Alex is absolutely furious. You've never heard her use this many cuss words in a single sentence before.

Hank is no better. "Because it's fucking _protocol_ , Danvers! You can't just take whatever the _hell_ you want from of this facility whenever the _hell_ you feel like it! If I let every goddamn toddler in this facility take souvenirs home, I may as well just open the fucking front door and hold a garage sale-"

"Oh for _chrissake_ , Hank!" Alex interjects, "give me a _fucking_ break! Do you _want_ General Lane's Asshole of the Century award on your desk _that_ badly? Because you're definitely in the running with this _bullshit_ you're spewing right now!" She slams her fists on the desk so hard, you're worried she might have broken a bone. _Several_ bones. "Donovan's wife can't even give him a proper fucking funeral because your asshole doctors are carving up his fucking brain, and you expect me to deny this woman the _one thing_ that could possibly help her keep her head above water?!" Alex is fighting back tears now. "Hank, you _know_ my father was killed on the DEO's watch, and you _know_ that I never saw a single trace of him ever again!" She kicks the swivel chair in front of her and it skids clear across the room, slamming into the opposite wall "I will _not_ let this woman go through the same thing my mother did, because it broke her, and this goddamn organisation has broken _enough_!"

And with that, she strides out of the office, slamming the door behind her with such violence that the glass wall shakes, silencing the low chatter of agents in the control room. Every pair of eyes in the vicinity watches her head to the security panel outside the training room, punching the buttons with such force that you're genuinely surprised when the system grants her entry instead of malfunctioning.

Right before the doors slide closed again, you dash between them, but you're wholly unprepared for Alex's reaction.

"Get out, Kara," she seethes. "I'm not going to talk to you about this."

She _knows_ you listened in to her conversation with Hank. She knows, because she's your sister, and she's spent more time learning to understand you than she's spent learning the formulas in her bioengineering textbooks.

"Who's Donovan?" you blurt out, not even caring how demonstratively Alex rolls her eyes before turning her back on you. "Why did you take his wedding ring?"

" _Kara_ ," she warns, stripping off her jacket and tossing it to a corner of the room. "I'm using this room to train. Now _get_ _out_."

Alex hasn't spoken to you like this since you were teenagers. Her words sting, and you feel your eyes watering with the unexpected pain. You hate that she can affect you this quickly, and you hate that she's already managed to completely close herself off to you in the time it took her to walk from the office to the training room.

Desperate for some kind of reaction from her, you jump straight into the deep end. "Is that what you put in the letterbox? His wedding ring?"

This gets you _far_ more than you bargained for. Alex turns and fixes you with a look that makes you believe she probably doesn't even _need_ Kryptonian blood to be able to melt things with her eyes.

"How do you know about that?" she asks, her voice unwavering yet _terrifying_ as she advances on you. "Even _Hank_ doesn't know what I did with the ring – that's why he's so upset." She's right in your personal space now, and your heart leaps into your throat. "So how do _you_ know?"

Oh god. She's going to be absolutely _livid_ at you.

So you bite the bullet. You're invulnerable, right?

"I've been following you," you blurt out, and you can see her jaw clench, "when you go out. At night. I follow you."

Insecurity flashes across her dark eyes. She's trying to discern just how much you've seen. " _Why_?"

There are a million reasons. Because you're curious. Because you want to keep her safe. Because you can't sleep when you're worried about her. Because you miss her.

"Because you're hurting, Alex. You're in pain. And you don't want to share it with me! Any of it! You're so – _distant_ towards me and I don't understand _why_!" You stop, inhaling deeply, regretting your minor outburst, and chance placing a hand on her bicep, She doesn't pull back. "Alex, _please_. Talk to me."

She swallows thickly, the silence pressing uncomfortably on your chest. You're finding it harder to breathe with its increasing weight as it settles firmly between the two of you.

Just when you're about to collapse under it, she finally speaks, her voice carrying the same note of despair that it did that day when you were thirteen and she told you that her father wouldn't be coming home. "Kara, do you know how many people have died because of me these last two weeks?"

That…was not what you were expecting to hear.

Your brow furrows. "Uh, none?" You know it's not the right answer – why else would she be asking the question? – but you don't consider Dr. Morrow's death her fault in the slightest. You wish she wouldn't either.

She slumps. "Eight people," she answers her own question with a heavy sigh. "Dr. Morrow was the first. Donovan the second." She presses her fingertips to the symbol on your chest, and you both watch her gently tracing the raised pattern. "six of the eleven men in Echo team were killed by a trap I led them straight into-"

" _Alex_ -"

"Kara, you could have saved them," she pulls her hand back from your uniform, and looks at you. There's nothing accusing in her tone. Nothing that implies you weren't good enough.

There's just _guilt_.

"I've seen how _fast_ you are," she explains further, "how strong you are. You could have carried them all as far as _Metropolis_ before the blast even made it out of the goddamn container. But instead, you had to keep my sorry ass from becoming a human barbeque." Her eyes are suddenly flicking across your face nervously. "A-and I'm not blaming you for that, because I would have done the same if it were _you_ in there and _I_ had the superpowers, but…"

Alex looks up at the ceiling, trying to find the courage to admit the truth. "This guilt. _God_. It's just _crushing_ me, Kara."

The anguish in her eyes is gut-wrenching. You find yourself wishing you could use your super strength to help her carry this burden.

Then she grips your forearms tightly, and you realise she's wishing for the exact same thing.

"Donovan had a _wife_. And I found out that some of those Echo team soldiers…they had kids. _Kids_ that now have to grow up without a father, and you and I both know how fucking _hard_ that is."

Alex pauses, collecting herself. Even If you wanted to say something, you wouldn't, because this _honesty_ …it's absolutely captivating in the worst of ways. But after weeks of Alex keeping you at arm's length, you're so starved for it that you just let her keep talking.

"And yet somehow I'm still standing here. _Alive_. I have no kids. No wife." You feel her nails digging into the sleeves of your uniform. "In fact, the _only_ person who ever needed me is completely impervious to physical harm." Then Alex looks at you with such a heartbreaking expression that your mouth goes dry. "So tell me Kara, _why am I still here_?"

Maybe it's the sheer outpouring of emotion you've just been witness to, or maybe it's the fact that there's nowhere _near_ enough words in your vocabulary to express what Alex needs to hear from you right now.

Whatever it is, something in you decides that the best response to Alex's vulnerability is to match it with a vulnerability of your own.

So you kiss her.

It's soft and gentle, and you try to push something warm and comforting into her lonely soul as you press your lips to hers. It only lasts long enough for Alex's heart to skip a single beat, but the effect it has on her…it decimates every single wall she's been building to try and keep you out.

" _I love you_ ," she whispers. And then suddenly _she's_ kissing _you_ , hungrily, trying to find her self-worth in the involuntary humming sound you're making in the back of your throat. You're vaguely aware of a hand gripping your waist and another tangled in your hair, and despite every thought disappearing in a shower of sparks, it doesn't obscure the realisation that the kind of desperation you're feeling in her touch stems from something _far_ deeper than needing simple reassurance in this moment.

Then it's over. You're reeling harder from the loss of contact than you did from the initiation of it. Blinking slowly, you see a horrified expression cross Alex's face.

"Oh shit," she mutters, avoiding your eyes. "God. _Fuck_."

Then louder. " _FUCK_!"

You need to say something. Anything. Alex looks ready to bolt. But you can't find the words. You can't find _any_ words.

"Kara, I am so. Fucking. _Sorry_." Three long strides and she's on the other side of the room, picking up her jacket. "We uh- we need to forget that just happened. Okay? I'm exhausted and my head is all…" she presses two fingers to her temple and closes her eyes briefly. "My head is _fucked_ right now." She ducks past you and heads for the door. "I'll call you later, alright?"

Your mouth is still hanging open slightly, and all you can do is nod, not really taking in anything she's saying, still unequivocally _stuck_ on the fact that not only did you think the best way to reassure your _sister_ was to kiss her, but that your stupid decision set off a chain reaction of absolute insanity that has just complicated your already _incredibly_ complex relationship with Alex.

Then she's gone, and you hope to _god_ this room is completely soundproof before letting loose with a frustrated scream.


End file.
